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I left with little fanfare and a handful of wary eyes from folks in the bullpen. Nothing new, and I was too tired to care. I needed sleep, a good cry, and a drink, and probably in reverse order—with an extra dose of tequila after each step. A little self-destructive, sure, but I was feeling tightly wound.
I arrived to an empty house. A quick text told me Lucy was still at my sister’s house, where Sera was having a bit of a breakdown. No, I didn’t need to come over, my best friend insisted. Sleep was more important, and I’d clearly reached the point of no alternative.
I sat on the couch, quiet phone in hand, unsure of what to do next. Something felt wrong with me, like... I was off my game.
‘You’re going to burn out.’ Lucy’s words echoed in my head.
After seven years of cases, it was to be expected, but I didn’t have the luxury of taking off now. Hell, I didn’t even have time for a nap. I rubbed my temples. Although super tired, my brain was going a million miles an hour. Sleep would not come easy.
Dead baby. Are there more dead babies? Of course there are more dead babies. You can’t use one dead baby to traffic high-end coke, unless there’s magick involved. Magicians do magic, cute and harmless illusions. Witches practice magick. That little ‘k’ changes everything from illusion to actual spellcraft. Why am I spelling in my head? Esther is alive. She has to be alive. Wouldn’t I feel it if she were dead? I don’t feel anything. Daniel hates me. Soon enough Jacob’s going to figure it out and leave me, too. I’m such a piece of shit. Who would want me? Who wants a crazy psychic who can’t even touch another human being without a mental exercise first? Jareth.
“Jareth.” Every other thought fell like settling dust in my head.
“Yes?”
“What?” I was still sitting in my living room on my couch, elbows to thighs, fingers to temples, and yet....
“You called me.” It wasn’t a question, and the sly smile on his face said he hadn’t meant it to be so. Tall, dark, and lanky, he was draped across my recliner, head held up by one palm, eyes all for me.
Great, I fell asleep after all. “Why are you here?”
“You called me.” He repeated the words slowly, as if to give me time to process them.
I had a sudden, overwhelming urge to slap him. “It wasn’t intentional.”
He faux pouted. “No?”
I shook my head. “No. I have enough issues including you without adding more of you to the mix, sir.” A curious thought crept into my head. “Can I make a weird request? Since you’re here, could you take your shirt off?” Bold, even for me. Way to go, lack of filter.
Jareth sat up in the chair, long legs crossed and setting the pinstripes in his navy slacks at right angles. He slipped out of the suit coat and laid it on the back of the recliner.
As he pulled at his blood-red necktie, a small sigh slipped from my lips.
Jareth smiled.
“Oh, shut up. This so isn’t about you doing a striptease for me.”
“If you say so.” He pulled the tie from his collar, and released the topmost button of his white button-down shirt to reveal that soft hollow at the base of his neck. Inappropriate thoughts tumbled into the forefront of my mind as he undid another and another, until the curve of his undershirt was visible. “Should I continue?”
“Is it possible for you to get undressed without a show?”
That smile melted into a smirk. “It’s only a show if there’s an audience.”
I looked away in a sudden blush. “You’re doing it on purpose.”
“Again, audience. I enjoy an interactive audience.”
Goddammit. Every retort I came up with was dirty and flirty. A little counterproductive, but I needed his shirt off. I sighed. “Okay, I have a reason for this.”
“I’m sure you do.”
I raised a hand. “No, I have a serious reason that has nothing to do with naked bodies and everything to do with furthering my case.”
The smirk didn’t falter. “Then I should continue, for the sake of your case.” Jareth unbuttoned each cuff.
I caught a glimpse of color at the wrists. Scales?
He stood and pulled the shirt out of his slacks.
If I was honest, a big part of me wanted to push him back down into that chair and climb on top of him in an act of further inappropriateness. I caught myself licking my bottom lip, and he noticed before I could... well... stop. Aw hell.
“You’re taking too long.” I stood and crossed the room, and grabbed a handful of each half of his opened shirt. “It’s only a dream,” I promised him, and pulled the halves apart in a sprinkle of remaining buttons. I pushed the shirt backward and exposed his broad shoulders. One tug and his undershirt came free, and while there was a happy trail—dark, curly hairs drawing a thick line from his belly button to the mystery below—he had no scales.
I teetered between happy and disappointed.
Jareth gave me no time for either. In a step out of the movies, he curled one arm around my waist and caught my head with the other hand as he dipped me. His lips felt soft and warm and moved against mine with a quiet passion, restrained but persistent, as if that buss was the only thing left on his bucket list, and he intended it to make a lasting impression.
Color me thoroughly impressed.
Maybe I should’ve resisted and pushed him away—enemy and all that jazz. Maybe somewhere in my head, I’d rationalized my desire for him—newly heartbroken and that jazz. Maybe, just maybe, I could give a rat’s ass at the moment and didn’t care if I kissed this good-looking man standing in my living room. Just a dream, right?
I wrapped my arms around his neck, and he stood us upright without breaking the kiss. I pushed him backward and we fell into the recliner.
He tore my shirt, two hands tugging at the neck, ripping seams until my shoulders were bare. He yanked it down further, and my arms were pinned against my sides, my bra exposed. He kissed along the line of my neck from the small hollow behind my ear down to my shoulder.
He slid one bra strap downward, and the soft molded padding of my bra cup held my breast like an offering. He pressed his mouth against the warm flesh, and I threw my head backward, which caught us off-balance and sent us tumbling to....
My bed?
Oh, it was a bed, but this gigantic cloud-covered insanity was not mine. Our shirts were gone, and his hands moved along my bared skin in tandem with his mouth.
“Oh, my gods....”
“Zoë?”
“Yes.”
“Yes?” Jareth gave me a confused look.
Oh, yes, please, right now. “You said my name?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Zoë, I let myself in,” a familiar voice whispered above us. “I know you’re asleep, but I don’t want you to freak out when you wake up.”
Oh shit! “Jacob.” The cloudscape around us dissolved until we were lying on my living room floor.
Jareth propped himself up on one elbow. “Jacob?”
“Boyfriend. The one who’s still talking to me. Where’s my shirt?”
He cleared his throat. “Dream.” Jareth waved a hand and we were both completely covered again and standing. “You don’t have to go.”
“I do. I can’t stay here. Not with you. Not like this. I have to wake up. Right. Now.”
Jareth shrugged. “Until we meet again, beautiful.” He bowed and dissolved out of sight.
“No more! Not again! Stay out of my head!” Dammit.
